Thomas Carew
An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John
Can we not force from widow’d poetry, Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, Though with unkneaded dough-bak’d prose, thy dust, Such as
To My Inconstant Mistress
When thou, poor excommunicate From all the joys of love, shalt see The full reward and glorious fate Which my strong faith shall purchase me, Then curse thine own inconstancy. A fairer hand than
Celia Beeding, To the Surgeon
Fond man, that canst believe her blood Will from those purple channels flow; Or that the pure untainted flood Can any foul distemper know; Or that thy weak steel can incise The crystal case
Mediocrity in Love Rejected
Give me more love or more disdain; The torrid, or the frozen zone, Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none; Either extreme, of love, or hate, Is sweeter than a
The Spring
Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream; But
A Cruel Mistress
We read of kings and gods that kindly took A pitcher fill’d with water from the brook ; But I have daily tender’d without thanks Rivers of tears that overflow their banks. A slaughter’d
I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
I do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be drawn Finer than threads of lawn, And are softer than the leaves On which
Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
And here the precious dust is laid; Whose purely-temper’d clay was made So fine that it the guest betray’d. Else the soul grew so fast within, It broke the outward shell of sin, And
Secrecy Protested
FEAR not, dear love, that I’ll reveal Those hours of pleasure we two steal ; No eye shall see, nor yet the sun Descry, what thou and I have done. No ear shall hear
To Ben Jonson upon Occasion of his Ode of Defiance Annexed t
‘Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand Hath fix’d upon the sotted age a brand To their swoll’n pride and empty scribbling due; It can nor judge, nor write, and yet ’tis true
Song. Murdering Beauty
I’LL gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruin harbours there in every place ; For my enchanted soul alike she drowns With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns. I’ll love
The Primrose
Ask me why I send you here The firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This primrose all bepearled with dew: I straight will whisper in your ears, The
A Song
Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty’s orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray
Persuasions to Joy, a Song
IF the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face; Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time
Ask Me No More
Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty’s orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray
Another
THIS little vault, this narrow room, Of Love and Beauty is the tomb; The dawning beam, that ‘gan to clear Our clouded sky, lies darken’d here, For ever set to us: by Death Sent
Song. Mediocrity in love rejected
GIVE me more love or more disdain ; The torrid or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain, The temperate affords me none : Either extreme of love or hate, Is sweeter
Disdain Returned
He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from starlike eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.
Epitaph On the Lady Mary Villiers
THE Lady Mary Villiers lies Under this stone; with weeping eyes The parents that first gave her birth, And their sad friends, laid her in earth. If any of them, Reader, were Known unto
My Mistress Commanding Me to Return Her Letters
SO grieves th’ adventurous merchant, when he throws All the long toil’d-for treasure his ship stows Into the angry main, to save from wrack Himself and men, as I grieve to give back These
Song: Eternity of Love Protested
How ill doth he deserve a lover’s name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat, in spite of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire;
The Unfading Beauty
HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires: As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.
A Divine Mistress
In Nature’s pieces still I see Some error that might mended be; Something my wish could still remove, Alter or add; but my fair love Was fram’d by hands far more divine, For she
To A. L. Persuasions to Love
THINK not, ’cause men flattering say You’re fresh as April, sweet as May, Bright as is the morning star, That you are so ; or, though you are, Be not therefore proud, and deem
A Song: When June is Past, the Fading Rose
Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty’s orient deep These flowers as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray
Song. Good Counsel to a Young Maid
GAZE not on thy beauty’s pride, Tender maid, in the false tide That from lovers’ eyes doth slide. Let thy faithful crystal show How thy colours come and go : Beauty takes a foil
Lips and Eyes
IN Celia’s face a question did arise, Which were more beautiful, her lips or eyes? ” We,” said the eyes, “send forth those pointed darts Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts.” ” From us,”
A prayer to the Wind
Go thou gentle whispering wind, Bear this sigh; and if thou find Where my cruel fair doth rest, Cast it in her snowy breast, So, enflam’d by my desire, It may set her heart
Boldness in Love
Mark how the bashful morn in vain Courts the amorous marigold, With sighing blasts and weeping rain, Yet she refuses to unfold. But when the planet of the day Approacheth with his powerful ray,
Know, Celia, Since Thou Art So Proud
Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, ‘Twas I that gave thee thy renown. Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties lived unknown Had not my verse extolled thy name, And with
Song. A Beautiful Mistress
IF when the sun at noon displays His brighter rays, Thou but appear, He then, all pale with shame and fear, Quencheth his light, Hides his dark brow, flies from thy sight, And grows
Ingrateful Beauty Threatened
Know Celia, since thou art so proud, ‘Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, liv’d unknown, Had not my verse exhal’d thy name, And with